Deeper than love

Deeper than love. The film kicks in again. The experience of living in another country, another city, is like living in a film, at times it borders on mania; a tendency to talk too much, to say so little.

Tonight at C’s, the keys are lost in a panicked moment. A glove is thrown from a fifth floor window. The GeldAutomat refuses to obey.

Um die ecke, ins Falckensteinstr. I text furiously. Signs are everywhere, the
ticking of reality – a little more insistent.

Today is my 32nd day in Berlin. The weather is good. I write an email to The Postman Ferdinando about dissapeerance, Donald Crowhurst lost at sea.

Um die ecke, a line of black paint sprayed in the darkness.